Wesker and Chris Fanmail
by Wolfywoman
Summary: Albert Wesker and Chris Redfield sit down and answer your comments/concerns/questions! So, get reviewing! xD Rated mature because you never know what may be asked, and what they might do to one another.
1. Introduction

OOC:

Wesker and Chris are here to answer any and all of your questions, comments and randomosity, while also trying to get along with one another. We request that any mail you send in be clearly labeled towards its recipient. Also, timeline wise this is after Resident Evil 5, so be forewarned of spoilers and general Neo-ness from Wesker.

Lastly, other characters may make random cameos/appearances, but this is rare. Please try to keep your questions/mail directed to either Chris Redfield or Albert Wesker.

Thanks! ^_^

-----------------------------------

IC:

"See, that didn't go so badly."

"I… suppose."

"Just make sure he stays on his side," Grumbles Chris, hunched over a computer monitor; Wesker, alternatively, is sat poised with perfect form at his own computer monitor. He only smirks at Chris' comment.

"Right. So, here goes nothing! Ready guys?"

"Ready." They reply in unison, Chris immediately looking to Wesker, who merely continues staring at the computer screen. For his part, the left side of his mouth is twitching in an attempt to smile. Despite the oddity, they definitely –do- look ready.


	2. The insanity begins

A loud chirping came from Chris' monitor, followed by a similar chirping from Wesker's. Both open their emails quickly, Chris failing in his oh-so-subtle attempts to glance over to Wesker's computer, and the blond fairing a little better in his quiet glances.

"Mwaha asks…" There was a long silence. Wesker paused in reading over his own message, fingers stopping abruptly in their clicking (it was entirely likely he wasn't typing anything at all, and simply trying to look cool). He tore his eyes from his own monitor to settle them on the BSAA member. "Well, Chris?"

"I… well, ah….?" The thirty-five year old zombie slayer that had seen more grotesque horrors than even the sickest minds could imagine… was floored. Occasionally he blinked, so he couldn't be dead. In fact, it looked like a twitch was starting just above his left eyebrow. Slowly Chris' face turned to one of anger, and the blond nearby heaved a heavy sigh.

"Well?"

"I'll tell you what I'd do. I'd…"

"Chris. You have to read the question aloud first."

"What? I'm not reading this out loud!"

"If you don't, no one will know what it says." Wesker replied smoothly, as if he were talking to a small child. That description wasn't too far off.

"Can't we just move on to the next question?" Grumbled Chris after a moment of silence.

"Well that doesn't seem fair… Here, let me see." Wesker rose, only for Chris to hunch further over the computer. "No." The blond sighed evenly, then sat back down. "You can't just choose not to answer certain questions. The people have a right to satisfy their curiousity."

"A scientist would say that."

"I prefer the term 'God'."

Chris grumbled, to which Albert rose a pale eyebrow. Chris gave a defeated sigh.

"Fine. Mwaha asks… 'What would you do if you saw your sister Clair and Leon having…" He coughed politely, Wesker's eyes boring into him despite the glasses. Chris hurriedly continued under his breath; "Hot dirty sex in your bed." Wesker smirked, further infuriating the brunet. "And…?" "And is killing Leon an option?" Growled Chris. Wesker shrugged, to which the gunman nodded sharply. "Then that's what I'd do. Next question."

Wesker's smile faded to a smaller smirk, but stayed amused. With a flourish of gloved fingers over the keyboard, he brought up the next message. "This one is also from Mwaha…" Chris grinned cruelly. _Please let it be embarrassing. Please let it be embaressing._ The tyrant chuckled; clearly it was not what Chris had hoped.

"Mwaha says; 'Wesker I star star love you'. Why thank you Mwaha, I love myself as well." Chris muttered something under his breath, before seeming to perk up. "What does star star mean?" Wesker shrugged, fixing his glasses and leaning back in his chair. "I assume it was for emphasis."

"Oh."

Chirping came again, from Chris' computer – Wesker glanced over, then folded his hands behind his head and leaned back. Chris went from looking shocked, to disturbed, to disgusted, to a red rivalling a beat. "Uhh, it says I can't read this one out loud." Wesker rose an eyebrow, which was lost amongst his sunglasses. "Pardon?" "You're not allowed to hear it."

Within an instant the blond was hovering over his shoulder, his computer chair still spinning from the force. Chris gave a strangled, "Hey!" before attempting to cover the monitor with his body. "Move." Growled Albert, and when Chris refused to comply a boot slammed into Redfield's computer chair, sending it and its occupant across the room.

"Now then."

Wesker leaned over the desk, eyes scanning the monitor. Chris grunted, throwing something in Wesker's general direction that missed. There was a brief moment of confusion etched on the tyrant's face, then he looked impassive once more. Without turning to Chris (who was steadily getting up and trying to right the chair that was half pinned under another desk) he asked; "What is 'yaoi'?"

Chris flushed again, shaking the chair violently before dislodging it and stumbling backwards, nearly losing his footing once more. Irritated, the gunman marched over to where Wesker was and shoved him hard with his shoulder, setting the chair down and glaring up at Wesker. "Do you always make a habit of snooping?"

Wesker shrugged elegantly. "Now I've read it; you can read it aloud." The blond moved to his chair with just a little more satisfaction than Chris wanted to see. Then, some obscene part of his mind reasoned he could make the other just as awkward. Redfield drew a breath to calm himself, then slowly began a careful, flat explanation of what yaoi was. When he finished, and looked to Wesker in anticipation of gaping jaws and a full on blush, he was met with the usual calm, impassive expression. "Oh." The male said simply, then typed something on the computer.

Chris ground his teeth.

"The question, from Tntfriday13 is; 'So.. Chris, what do you think about all the yaoi art and fanfictions about you and Wesker? Smexy right?! '" Chris strained to pronounce the word 'yaoi' correctly. "No, I don't think it's 'smexy'. Wesker killed my friends, tried to kill me, betrayed me, and I hate him. There's nothing sexual about it."

The blond muttered something, waving Chris off when the brunet asked him to clarify.

"Satisfied?" Chris asked, to which Wesker shrugged again. "I am neither satisfied nor dissatisfied; it wasn't my question to ask or answer."

"Whatever."

Wesker smirked. "Whatever indeed. The next question is also from Tntfriday13, who asks; 'Okay, Wesker. Which way would you rather have your Chris? Bent over the table or on a nice comfy bed covered in whip cream?"

There was the audible sound of a head thumping against a desk; Chris was apparently trying to bludgeon himself to death. His monitor displayed a lovely string of, "DGAHHBERGEGRERVAEEEEEFAERGHB GVRHATHEH EARWAHHA". Wesker smiled cruelly.

"Well, certainly, there's an allure to bending him over a table. Less struggling that way. A bed seems somehow too… romantic. Though the thought of whip cream is certainly entertaining."

"I hate you." Came the muffled voice of Chris, amidst the clacking and thumping of head-on-keyboard. Wesker merely grinned. "I know. Oh, she's apparently a fan of the pairing as well."

"Wasn't that obvious?" The sound was still muffled, which only amplified Wesker's complete joy. "I suppose."

Wesker's computer suddenly chirped, signalling another letter – it was certainly fortunate it was directed towards him, as Chris was still busy trying to beat himself into a concussion.

"This next one is from Kiki," He began, more to himself than the slightly dazed but still determined Redfield. "It says; 'Since you're obviously alive and well, how did you manage to survive the fall in lava and the two missiles to the head? Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you're alive, but still...one has to wonder.'"

Chris stopped bashing his head to look at Albert. "You know, I wondered that myself." Another cheeky grin sent Chris back to hitting his head.

"Now, it would hardly be interesting for me to reveal _all_ of my secrets. Besides, to explain would leave one open to interpreting flaws, and it's a cliché for villains. I am above such clichés."

Chris laughed harshly, getting the blond to stare at him, one eyebrow visible over the rim of his glasses. "Is something funny?"

"Wesker, you are the biggest cliché to villain history. I don't think you could have any _more_ clichés!"

"What are you talking about? I hardly th—"

"You wear black. And leather. And long coats. Yes or no?"

"Well yes, but—"

"You have red eyes, yes or no?"

"Well… yes, but—"

"You want to rule the world, yes or no?"

"Is there a point to this interrogation, Redfield?"

"I'm proving my point."

Wesker's mood had noticeably soured, though he gave a strained smile and waved the other off. "Irregardless, that's for me to know and others to learn."

"Ah ah ah, Wesker," Now it was Chris' turn to raise from his chair and stalk over to the blond. Wesker showed immense self control in not attacking the man hovering over him, or at least rising in challenge. Instead, he oozed self control. Chris continued on, leaning in close to try and make the other more uncomfortable. It worked, though the only sign was a brief flash of red behind black sunglasses. "You have to answer all the questions, remember? You can't just pick and choose?"

In a deliberate denial of Chris attempt to unnerve him, Wesker leaned back in his chair, hands crossed behind his head and legs stretched out, crossing at the ankles. "Fine. If you must know, I am not particularly susceptible to lava. I regenerate more quickly than it destroys my body, and after using uroboros to connect with a column I was able to pull myself to a platform outside of the lava and heal entirely."

"But you had no head…"

"You are aware uroboros functions without the traditional senses of humans? I simply relied on that."

"Uroboros is weak to fire." Chris said, suddenly. Wesker smiled.

"Is it? Or is fire merely the way to separate the bodies of those rejected from the virus itself?"

"I saw it die, Wesker. I killed enough of them."

Wesker continued to smile coolly. "Believe what you want, Chris. Irregardless, I'm alive,"

"Unfortunately."

"And, given the option, I will not be returning to pits of lava any time soon."

Chris paused, leaving from where he'd been standing (he couldn't take the smug look of the other) and returning to his own monitor. His pointer fingers hovered over the keys, before a thought crossed his mind. "Hey, Wesker! Why aren't you still infected with Uroboros, then?"

He still smiled. "Who's to say I'm not? I was able to grow it at will… reducing it is a similar concept." Chris sneered, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."

Wesker sat back up, shrugging. "So, about that table…"

The loud thumping of a head hitting the desk sounded, Wesker sighing pleasurably as he waited for the next comments.

OOC: There it is, the first chapter! I hope the formatting wasn't too weird. xD


	3. The Challenge

By the time the next set of messages came in Chris had finally stopped beating his head, though it had quickly began throbbing and he had left to get some ibuprofen. Wesker checked his watch idly, having already heard a series of beeps from the monitor and growing impatient with waiting. The man could mix herbs but not swallow a few pills?

Just then the door opened, Chris glancing at the blond still leaned back in the chair, glaring at his back. Wesker didn't so much as twitch, and the brunet half suspected he'd fallen asleep. Redfield settled back into his own chair, prying his eyes from the blond so that he could hit a few keys, bringing up the list of messages. "Whoa…" Six new messages already? That was double what they'd seen last time! It was a good thing he'd grabbed something to eat when he left as well.

"This first message is from Sythlia," He glanced to Wesker out of the corner of his eyes, who straightened some, clearly listening. "It's a general question, asking; "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?" Chris looked to Wesker, who made a thoughtful noise as he stretched back again. Chris considered kicking the chair out from under him, but was caught off guard when the other started talking.

"There are a lot of things to consider, obviously. How hard are you licking? Have you eaten anything that will cause a higher acidic level? Is it warm, which would cause it to melt faster, or is it cold?"

"I don't think Sythlia is looking for scientific accuracy, Wesker."

The blond sighed. "I'm not entirely certain. I've never tried to reach the center of a tootsie pop,"

"Never?"

"And I don't intend to."

"Come on, you weren't _always_ an evil bastard; you must have tried to at least once. Everyone has."

"Sorry to disappoint you Chris, but I don't participate in juvenile things like that."

Chris rolled his eyes, before an idea struck him. "Once we finish answering these questions we should go get some and try to; give use something to do in the lull."

Wesker didn't respond.

"Well?" Clearly Redfield had taken to the task of answering questions quite nobly.

The blond rolled his shoulders, then sat up. "Do you mean to say you haven't any answer either?"

There was a pause, then a shrug. "I think I tried, once; Claire asked. I can't remember how many licks it took."

Albert began typing something. "Alright. After we finish answering the messages you can have one and inform everyone of how many licks it takes."

"Hey, it doesn't work that way. We both have to."

"What are you talking about? It's a general question; either one of us can answer us."

"It's an _experiment_, Wesker. We both have to do it so that the results are… accurate."

Wesker made a noise, smirking, and Chris looked momentarily irritated. "What?"

"I'm just impressed you know proper protocol. Though you're ignoring various other factors. The results will be accurate for _here_, and us individually, but not necessarily anyone else."

"Oh well."

Wesker exhaled softly; close to a sigh, but not quite. He hated tootsie pops; he didn't like the cherry flavor they had, detested the taste of the center even more, and he was well aware of how stupid he would look sucking on a lollipop. Wesker was always highly aware of his appearance.

"Fine."

Chris smirked, perhaps aware of how much the tyrant hated tootsie pops, perhaps having overheard a comment years ago at the S.T.A.R.S. office, but said nothing of it. Instead he brought up the next message. "Wargo says; 'I know you must get this alot, but... Have you been taking steroids?'". Redfield frowned, wrinkling his nose some; "No. I don't take drugs. I work out a lot."

"Wargo also says," Albert straightened in his chair completely. "'First off, You're my favorite character in all of resident evil...'", Wesker grinned over to Chris. "Wargo apologizes." Chris gave a sarcastic smile that was closer to a sneer. "Wargo goes on to say, 'OK, I designed this question specifically to torture Chris...'" Chris winces, Wesker pausing for dramatic effect, a small smile crossing him at the other's apprehension. "'When you had Jill mind-controlled, did you ever convince her to flash you or do anything dirty to you? -chuckle-'" Chris was scowling darkly. "You had better not have, Wesker."

"Though I certainly could have…" There was the sound of Chris' chair's arms being squeezed tightly. "I chose not to. Excella was jealous of Jill as it was, and hardly needed further motivation to attempt her life."

Chris sighed, or perhaps that was the sound of the chair being released, and Albert took the moment in stride. "Of course, I_ did_ see her nude while attending to her medically." He looked to Chris. "Would that be considered dirty?" Redfield lunged up, chair going backwards as he stood, hands fisted. There were a thousand names to call the blond, a hundred ways to beat him, and yet all he could do was stand there, hands fisting and unfisting. Finally, with a sound close to a growl, Chris pulled his chair back over and sat down at his monitor.

"Mwaha says…" There was a strain to Chris' voice. "'Chris, you shouldn't kill Leon.'" Wesker chuckled darkly, and again Chris had to glare at him before he could continue. "'But anyway moving onto my question…'"

There was a long silence. Wesker glanced over. "Care to share, Chris?" The other's initial anger had seemed to simmer down; he looked somewhat confused. "That's all it says."

"There's no question?"

"No."

"Ah. That's… different."

"Hm."

A few keys were tapped, and Wesker brought up the next message. "Tiger Snaps asks; 'Who would you rather 'do', Leon or Chris?'" "Neither, I would hope." Complained the brunet, to which Wesker shrugged. "Chris, I suppose." Redfield paled. "Assuming 'do' is a euphemism for shattering every bone in their body." Colour returned to the human.

"What's with all of these homosexuality questions?"

"Too close to home, Chris?"

"You're not funny, Wesker."

"Who said anything about being funny…"

Chris rolled his eyes at the dry sarcasm, bringing up another message. "Tntfriday13 apparently loves us both,"

"That must be new for you, Chris."

"Shut up Wesker."

The tyrant did, smiling smugly.

"Tntfriday13 says; 'I made Wesker answer a cute question now it's your turn, Chris." The brunet paused, steeling himself for whatever was coming. He had hardly forgotten the question regarding tables and whip cream – his head throbbed just from the thought of it.

"'Where would you rather…'" Chris stopped abruptly, mouth open slightly. He looked to Wesker. "Are you posing as someone to ask these questions, Wesker?" The blond tilted his head slightly. "No. Why?" Chris drew a long breath, then; "'Where would you rather be… _taken_ by Wesker?'" Redfield muttered something about volcanoes under his breath. Possibly he mentioned rocket launchers.

Wesker was about to respond when Chris continued.

"'You being handcuffed to the bed...naked and high on an aphrodisiac which makes you 'hard as hell'." He said the phrase with notable unease. "Or up against the wall, naked, wearing a leash and Wesker having hold of the end of it?'"

"Well, given your love of being dominated and masochistic tendencies, I would assume the latter." The blond told Redfield sweetly, who glared. "I would rather kill myself than do anything like that with him. If I had to choose one, I guess…. Agh, I don't even want to think about it." Wesker watched with obvious delight at his rival's uncomfortable squirming. "I…" His voice became quiet, and somewhat aggressive. "The leash. I guess. It'd be easier to counter attack and get out of it."

Wesker chuckled. "You see, Chris? A submissive masochist to the end. You might as well profess undying devotion and love as well, at this point."

"I'm going to get you for this, Wesker."

The blond waved his hand dismissively. "Promises, promises. Just read the next one, '_Dear'_."

Chris ground his molars, typing into the monitor. "The next one is from 'eliteElite', and says; 'I was just wondering how by putting 3 bullets in a 6 chambered revolving magnum, it has 12 shots. Have you ever realized this, or do you just ignore it fearing that if you acknowledge the fact the universe might collapse upon itself?'" Redfield's voice noticeably lost a lot of frustration as he read it, happy to finally have a question not regarding the relationship between he and Wesker. Percieved relationship, anyways.

"It's actually a simple matter of mathematics. By applying…"

--A portion of the transmission is missing—

"So, as you see, it actually makes perfect sense for three bullets to be entered into a six chambered revolving magnum, producing twelve shots."

"That was one of the most convoluted explanations I have ever heard. Why didn't you just sa—"

--A portion of the transmission is missing—

"Look, we should just agree to disagree, arguing over the Resident Evil movies is childish."

"You're right, unfortunately."

A sharp chirp sounded, a new message arriving. Chris opened it quickly, followed by Wesker, and Redfield grinned at the opening. "Albie?" The blond smiled thinly, but didn't comment. He wasn't fond of variations on his name. "Hina 86 asks, 'Have the steroids affecter your star-star-inch size?'" Chris had to pause to try and understand what the two astericks stood for, then it seemed to click and he glowered. "Why does everyone think I'm taking steroids?? No, I'm not taking steroids, so no, they haven't affected _that_."

"You can be honest, Chris."

"Fuck you, Wesker."

"Oo, touchy." The other was smiling wryly, Chris muttering some rant under his breath about fab. Fast diets and work out regimens, and mumbling about some gym or another. Wesker hardly paid it any mind. "Hina-86 also asks, of myself; 'Can you see into people's minds? If yes, read Chris' for any signs on smartness.'" Wesker smirked. "Unfortunately not, dear heart, though I should hope Chris intelligence isn't that difficult to interpret." The blonde spared a glance to Chris;

"And fried rice and _skinless chicken_ with no beer and…"

Wesker smiled. "Does it really need saying?" After waiting a moment he coughed politely into one hand. "If you are not terribly put out by it, Redfield, I do believe you should consider continuing on, and airing your grievances later."

Chris seethed, glaring at Wesker, then hit a key on the computer. "I _will_ kill you when this is over, Wesker."

"Before or after the tootsies pops?"

There was another frustrated grinding of teeth, which brought Albert far more pleasure than he'd expected.

"Hina-86 wants to know if there'll be another game featuring both of us as a, 'hot, shirtless, and possibly naked couple'. No. Wesker and I are not and never have been a couple." Wesker rose an eyebrow. "What about that one time at the RPD, in the office…"

"Wesker. Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't even joke. They'll think you're serious."

"Well they can't possibly think you're serious…"

"I hate you, Wesker. The thought of you dying makes me sleep better at night. The thought of you not around, any more, makes me happy."

"And yet you dedicate your life to pursuing me… As I said, you're clearly a masochist, Redfield. That, or obsessed."

"If anyone's obsessed it's you."

"I'm not the one denying that claim._ You are_."

Chris rolled his eyes, obviously losing the battle to the other. "Just read the next question, Wesker."

"With pleasure." The other purred. After a moment he tilted his head. "Hm, this is apparently intended to be private. But I'd hate to keep you out of the loop, Chris."

"Thanks." Came the sour reply.

"Hina-86 says, 'It's obvious to all us fangirls that you two had an intense relationship for about ten years."

"One of hate, revenge, and wanting to kill the other." Chris clarified, Albert chuckling deeply again. It only served to fluster the brunet.

"'If you want to start right, I can give you some great tips on how to romance Chris.'"

Chris expression went from being flustered, to bewildered, to confrontational. "Oh this I'd love to see. You actually trying to _romanticize_ me. Do you even know what romance is?"

"As it were, Chris, I happened to manipulate an extremely influential woman through romance."

"She didn't have the history we have."

"Is that a challenge?"

Chris paused, then, perhaps a bit stupidly, grinned cockily. "Yeah, sure. Let's see you, Albert Wesker, actually romanticize me. Without inducing vomit; and no drugs, or mind control, or anything like that."

"Ah, so we'll have to go through traditional means, eh?" The blond continued to type effortlessly on the keyboard, never glancing up to the brunet. "Do you prefer leashes or whip cream?"

Chris tightened his hand until he felt his nails digging into his palm; then he released. "Let's make this interesting. If you lose…"

"Then I will stop harassing you."

Chris nodded.

"However, if I win, then _you_ have to stop harassing _me._ I am free to take over the world, kill innocents, and kick puppies."

Chris paused. "That's a lot more than you have to give up. If I win, you have to stop trying to take over the world _period_. Go back to research, or being a captain, or whatever the hell it is you did before you tried to rule the world."

Wesker paused, massaging his chin thoughtfully. Then a smooth smile crossed his features. "Alright." Chris nodded. "Alright then."

There was a moment of silence – awkward on Chris' part, as he wondered what he'd gotten into, and Wesker broke the moment by finishing off the message. " 'P.S. – How come your pants never disappeared in Resident Evil 5? I think someone got disappointed for that.' I had no need to remove them, and if you'll recall, there was a lady present. I'm sorry to know I disappointed anyone in my choice of modesty, of course."

Chris snorted in time with another chirp.

Chris opened the message, saying casually; "SilverShark's question is for both of us. The message says; 'Imagine: You are in a car, getting away from a hurricane. Your car can only fit you and another person: Your best friend who saved you life once or your fianceé who gave up everything for you. Who would you choose?'"

Wesker rolled his shoulders, a popping noise sounding. "I suppose I would choose whoever was more useful. Assuming the fiancée had given everything up already, she would no longer have anything left to offer; I would choose my best friend."

"Do you have _any_ loyalty, Wesker?" Chris asked in mock surprise. Wesker shrugged absently.

"Not particularly. Why, would you choose your fiancée over your friend, Chris?"

Chris frowned. "I… I'm not sure." He nodded to himself. "I would let them both take the car, and try to find shelter. I have training, and I would probably stand a better chance anyways."

"So self-sacrificing… You know, it's one of the few traits I've never understood being prized. Basic instinct demands survival; if you are incapable of feeling even that basic need, perhaps you're not fit for survival at all."

"Or maybe I have more morals than you."

Wesker smiled slightly. "Maybe."

A chirp came again, once more from Chris' computer. Chris opened it, frowning at the contents, though he looked more bored than frustrated.

"GiGi asks; 'Who would you wanna have a hot make-out session with? Leon or Claire…" His voice became bored, as if it was usual. "Or Wesker." Wesker grinned, apparently still finding the joke quite hilarious. "Claire's my sister; I love her, but I would never want to 'make-out' with her. I would probably throw up before I could make-out with Wesker, so I suppose Leon."

"You realize, of course, you will not be saying that for very much longer?"

"Hey, if I didn't have to make-out with Leon I wouldn't. Women only zone."

"I mean you won't be saying that about _me_."

"That you disgust me? I doubt it, Wesker. But keep on dreaming."

Wesker just gave one of those little smiles. "It looks like this is the last of the batch. Should we go attempt that experiment with the tootsies pops?"

Chris stretched both arms behind himself, arcing his back to try and stretch. "Yeah. We can record it, and play it before we answer the next set." Wesker nodded, standing up and taking his jacket from the back of his chair and sliding it on with ease. He made no advances towards the brunet, simply strolling from the room, and Redfield could only shake his head.

If he'd known he could defeat the tyrant through as simple a deal as this, he would have made the offer long ago! Though the anticipation of just what the other might try was making him nauseous.

-----------------------

OOC: Hey! Wow, thanks for all the reviews! SaYue-San, I didn't have the boys responding to the review because I didn't think it was directed at them, but if you do want it answered I'd be more than happy to include it in the next bout. Also, I was going to include the tootsies pop test in this chapter but it seems long enough as it is. xD

Also, wow! Lots of yaoi fans! xDD I have nothing against it (actually, I'm a big WesXChris shipper xD), but I can't garauntee it'll go that way for them. Chris hates Wesker so, so much. xDD

Heh, so yeah, other than that, I hope you enjoyed! If you have complaints feel free to voice them and promise to read them (ZOMGZ WESKER ROMANCE?!?). Also, yes, you're more than welcome to ask multiple questions through multiple reviews, though I ask that if they're all directed for a specific chapter you list all your questions in one review.

Uh, yeah. Enjoy! ^_^


	4. Of Romance and Tootsie Pops

It was safe to say, Wesker was frustrated.

Wesker did not frustrate very easily, but even the seemingly emotionless blond could suffer from frustration. It wasn't common; normally he felt small amounts of irritation brushing him, or the faintest disapproval.

But Chris brought out feelings he wasn't used to. Things he wouldn't want to admit to, for the vulnerability of it. The _weakness_ in admitting such a strong emotion. That sickening, detestable 'L' word that he took care never to use but slipped into his mind every time he thought of Chris Redfield.

Loathing.

Ugh, how he hated it. Loathing was such a primitive feeling, with such an implied lack of control, and he was _always_ in control.

But he couldn't _help_ himself.. Redfield had an uncanny knack for knowing _exactly_ how to get under Albert's skin, and the blond could only tolerate him for so long. It helped that he felt just as much joy in causing the other to suffer, but it took a lot out of him; drained him, even. To go from being entirely apathetic to feeling that… that 'L' word so powerfully…

Of course, this wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for the incident early that night. Wesker, self-assured and confident as always, had sworn to a bet that he could romanticize Chris. How hard could it be? The brunet was childish in his ideals and disgustingly optimistic; not exactly the most difficult specimen Albert had ever been forced to work with. Sure Chris claimed he wasn't gay, but Excella hadn't been too fond of men before she met Albert Wesker either.

As with Excella, this had nothing to do with actual interest and everything to do with benefitting himself. Wesker was not attracted to anyone, really; most people were far too inferior to keep him engaged physically or mentally, so all the repulsion Wesker felt had entirely to do with _who_ he was manipulating and little to do with Chris' gender. Humans were humans.

Wesker had been quite proud of his appearance; hair gelled back _flawlessly_, shades perfect, dressed in his tight dark trousers and long-sleeve vest, the sleeves of which were rolled up above his elbows to show off his broad forearms. He looked _delicious_.

Unfortunately, Chris Redfield was _Chris Redfield_, and with a complete grasp on his nemisis' plans he was able to shoot down any and all attempts of the other of 'romance'. Chris had to give Wesker some credit; he had a few charming lines. Unfortunately, the voice that would seem warm and sweet as honey was painful for Chris, who felt it was patronizing more than anything else. Chris hadn't taken the bait of a few interesting angles Wesker decided to stretch or lean at, instead making sure he wasn't similarly showing off any assets.

At one point Chris had gone to make a sandwich, and when Wesker came up behind him and ran a hand suggestively up the outside of the human's thigh Chris turned and struck him hard in the face, breaking his nose. Wesker had tried to pull him into a sudden tight kiss, taking a more dominant approach to the romantic attempt, but his tongue was very nearly bitten off and a number of hard blows to his stomach forced him to back off.

That had been hours ago.

Now, Wesker was standing over Chris, his glasses having been knocked away previously and both exposed eyes staring haughtily down at the other. The BSAA member was busy trying to pull himself up off of the ground after taking a kick to the ribs that sent him flying and had likely broken a few as well.

"Is there nothing I can do to interest you?"

"Sure there is," Chris responded sarcastically, teeth grit. "Drop dead."

"Hn."

With Redfield up again they resumed fighting, or rather Wesker resumed pummeling Chris who put up an admirable fight but was little match. Wesker had to constantly remind himself that he was trying to make Chris _want_ him, then that he wasn't trying to kill Chris, and then there was a nagging sense he shouldn't kill him but he couldn't quite remember why so he ignored it.

After some time Wesker was straddling the brunet, leaning over him and pinning both wrists above his head to the ground with one hand, the other hand tight around Chris' throat. There was a sadistic pleasure present in the blond's face as he stared down upon the bloody and bruised Chris Redfield. A weak chuckle that vibrated against his palm caused him to pause however, quirking an eyebrow. "I fail to see what is so amusing, Chris." Albert's voice was a drawl, but just as pleased as the rest of him. He sounded more curious than annoyed; was even generous enough to release his vice-grip on the other enough for Chris to speak.

"You… lost, Wesker."

The other eyebrow went up as well. Chris was grinning, most of his teeth bloody.

"You unromantic… asshole."

Slowly both eyebrows fell, the older of the two narrowing his eyes at Chris. His hand tightened momentarily as he sneered, then released the throat of the other entirely.

"I was simply taking a break." He informed Chris, letting go of the brunet's wrists and standing up. "I wouldn't want you to grow… expectant. You always were so… naïve. And clingy."

Chris snorted, wincing as he slowly pushed himself up. Wesker calmly collected his sun-glasses, then righted his hair (which had been fine, but it was something of a habit). The kitchen was a mess, with only one table still intact. A number of cupboards were smashed open from both men taking turns smacking the other's head through them.

Redfield went to a cupboard, fishing out a First Aid Spray and healing himself, then tossed the can into a nearby garbage bin. It seemed somewhat pointless with so much chaos and mess cluttering the room, but Chris saw it as one less thing to deal with when the room was cleaned.

Huh. Were he and Wesker responsible for maintenance of the place as well, or would someone else deal with that?

Chris rooted around in a drawer, then withdrew six tootsie pops. Wesker, who had been finishing off a bottle of water, frowned. Chris found himself smiling, finding pleasure in the other's misery as well. "Tootsie pop experiment." He told Wesker, then moved to the table that could still be _called_ a table and cleared it off, sweeping various jars and papers off of it. Albert sighed begrudgingly but grabbed a paper towel, wiping off a line of peanut butter that had smeared along a corner. Chris dealt with an exploded pop can.

With that finished, Chris grabbed a nearby timer and set it on the table. Then he sat down, waiting for Wesker to take a seat across from him. When he did he held up the tootsie pops. "This room is set to 21 degrees Celsius. The tootsie pops are cherry-flavoured. Anything else that needs to be added?"

Wesker snatched a tootsie pop, unrolling the plastic and eying the candy with a frown. "It is an original design, so we can assume the distance from the outside to the center is fairly consistent with others. You left it in the cupboard, which is room temperature. Have you had any cigarettes or alcohol today?" Chris felt that the tyrant was suddenly looking at him, but couldn't tell with the dark sunglasses.

"No. I don't smoke anymore—"

"Really?"

Chris nodded.

"Hn." Chris was slightly puzzled by a look that quickly passed Wesker, but didn't ask. "You haven't had anything to drink either, right? And you're not bulimic anymore either?"

Redfield _knew_ Wesker rolled his eyes at that comment. "You must think you're terribly clever. Really, though, this juvenile behavior is unbecoming."

"That's hardly a denial, Wesker."

Oh, Chris was really pushing it. It didn't help Albert was already frustrated over his apparent losing of the challenge. Calmly he set his tootsie pop down, then with a certain rigidness slid his glasses off and quietly folded them, setting them on the table as well. Both eyes glanced up to Chris.

"I am trying very, very hard not to kill you Chris. I would appreciate it if you would _not_ try my patience."

Chris smiled brightly. "Well if you put it like that, Wesker…"

"Thank you," Wesker began to slip his glasses back on.

"-I'll have to mention your bulimia more often."

Wesker scowled darkly, slamming his glasses down on the table. Then, smiling sweetly, responded; "I will kill you, Christopher. Slowly. Painfully."

Chris shrugged, tossing two additional tootsie pop rolls near Wesker's opened one. "Just start licking, Wesker."

It was good they had extra ones; Wesker bit the whole candy off the stick with one vicious chomp.

The first experiment went well, after Chris replaced the tootsie pop Wesker had bit in half ("You even swallowed the _stick?? _Who _does_ that??" No response.), and didn't pay much attention to the blond, enjoying the strawberry flavor. Eight minutes passed and Chris had to pause, looking his tootsie pop over; it wasn't quite at the center yet. He resumed licking, and within a few minutes stopped the timer with a loud 'THWACK!' that startled Wesker.

Grinning like a child he held out his tootsie pop for the blond to see. "Four-hundred and fifty-seven."

"I'm impressed," Wesker told him drly, spinning his own slowly; it wasn't even halfway to the center. "I didn't think you could count that high, Christopher."

"I would have thought you would be better at it," Chris told him, amused. "Don't you like tootsie pops, Wesker?" His voice bordered laughter; Wesker glared darkly. "No, as a matter of fact."

"Oh. Well that's too bad; we still have to perform two more experiments. Plus, you need to finish that one so we can compare lick count."

"Can we not simply assume your results are adequate?"

"Nope." Chris hit the timer again, letting it continue from where it had been.

There was a grumble, and Chris momentarily feared Wesker was going to rip it right off the stick again; he didn't, but the fervor he licked it with was something like a cat. Except for the constant grimaces. A few minutes later Wesker pulled it away warily, Chris hitting the button on the timer. "All finished?"

"I think I'm going to vomit."

Chris shrugged, having already finished off the tootsie center of his own and ready for the next.

"I will kill you for this Redfield."

Chris smiled, imitating his drawl. "Promises, promises." Wesker growled, but said nothing, unwrapping the second tootsie pop.

Chris, enjoying his tootsie pop and more aware of what to expect, was able to cut his time down from over eleven minutes to just under nine. Again he found himself finished before Wesker, who was tentivly licking at it with the tip of his tongue. Chris tilted his head, voice mock surprised. "You're not going to throw up, are you? You can deal with zombies, but a little—"

"Shut up." The voice was somewhat muffled around the darting tongue and tootsie pop.

"Who would have thought the great Albert Wesker had a weakness for tootsie pops…"

"Stop." The other warned, still working on the vile concoction.

"You should just have at it, Wesker." Chris told him, sounding bored, his arms crossed on the table. "Get past the taste and go head on. You're only prolonging it..."

"I care… about what I put… in my mouth." Grumbled the other, around careful licks. He at least tried to use more of his tongue. Chris watched the timer drawl on to fourteen minutes and sighed, sitting back.

At twenty three minutes Wesker finished, grimacing and wiping his mouth on the back of his bare arm.

"We should take a break," Wesker informed Chris. Feeling an unusual amount of pity (he'd never actually seen Wesker _green_ before) he realized the right thing to do was to let the other rest a minute.

But this was Wesker.

"It could affect the results," He told Wesker. "Better to deal with it now." He said as matter-of-factly as he could, biting back any laughter. Wesker looked queasy, but took the final tootsie pop roll.

After six minutes Chris could taste the tootsie center, but hadn't quite reached it. Wesker's tongue was slathering and wrapping around his own in a desperate attempt to deal with it as quickly as possible; it was somewhat hypnotic to watch. Like a frog, or some giant lizard. At six minutes and thirteen seconds he hit the timer harshly, holding his tootsie pop out triumphantly. "Finished."

Then a look crossed him; a look Chris had never seen before. He swayed, then made a disgusting sort of noise in the back of his throat, covering his mouth with his hand. Quickly the blond was up and out of the kitchen, racing off to the bathroom to vomit.

Chris celebrated his victory with a quiet chuckle, then turned the timer back on and resumed licking his own tootsie pop roll.

----

After seven minutes he completed his tootsie pop roll. At nine, he grew curious over what could be taking Wesker so long. At fourteen an interesting thought occurred to him, and still proud over having apparently gained some upper hand over Wesker for once went to find his arch foe. It was probably better that he found him anyways, Chris decided; who knew what puppies the man was probably kicking.

Wesker, for his part, was _not_ kicking puppies. After being sick the blond had showered and changed, and was currently brushing his teeth with an electric toothbrush. Two whole rolls of floss had been used and now lay in the garbage bag, and a new one lay open and half used on the counter. Wesker had succeeded in cleaning his teeth at least five minutes ago, but just the thought of the tootsie's made bile rise in the back of his throat and set him brushing all the more.

When the door creaked open and Redfield stepped in he glared at the other's reflection, the motion of his hand becoming more violent and almost dislodging a molar. Chris sighed quietly, looking honestly apologetic; he leaned back against the door. Wesker sneered faintly, then went back to brushing his teeth, spitting harshly a few seconds later. He grabbed a glass of water nearby quickly and rinsed, making sure he spent thirty seconds rinsing before he spat it out. Then he grasped a cloth nearby and wiped his mouth, turning to Chris.

"Yes?" Wesker, his glasses set aside on the counter, really looked like a monster. The tyrant looked ready to murder Chris, and probably could have at that moment, as well.

Instead he was left to gape as Chris' lips crushed against his own, the brunette grabbing the back of the blond's head and pulling hard to try and pull him down to his height. Wesker previous irritation was forgotten in the sudden pleasure of winning, and possessively he grasped Redfield's waist and pulled him hard against him, opening his mouth in an attempt to swallow the human's very breath.

And then the most disgusting, grotesque taste filled his mouth; at first he thought it was Chris tongue, but the other quickly pulled away and Wesker was left hacking, leaning over the counter and coughing up the center of a tootsie Chris had oh-so-elegantly spat in Albert's mouth. The blond felt his stomach churn painfully again and, with a look of true pain, reached into his mouth and pulled out a brunet strand of hair.

Then Wesker was throwing up into the toilet again, and Chris was laughing, and it was bizarre to see such a reversal of roles.

The sound of retching stopped; Albert leaned back slowly, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm again. Then both red eyes set on Chris, and he lunged.

Redfield, having expected the move, had swiftly ducked around the door and pulled it shut, enjoying the satisfying 'boom!' from Wesker colliding.

"CHRIS!!!!!! The tyrant roared, pounding on the door.

"Shouldn't you brush your teeth?"

There was loud roaring and pounding, and then all at once it stopped. Chris paused, listening to the sudden silence. When Wesker spoke again he sounded reserved, calm, if not slightly quiet and disbelieving. "Chris… what did you put in my hair…?"

Redfield grinned to himself. Grabbing the other man by the head hadn't been so much about eliminating the height difference as it had been to smear what had melted of the cherry tootsie pop off of his fingers and into the other's perfectly kept hair. If there was a God, it would be hard to get out.

There were soft murmurs from behind the door, and Chris thought the blond might be in shock. Then the door (and consequently Chris, who was leaning on it) went flying. Wesker stormed out of the bathroom, eyes blazing red, entirely deadest on killing Chris. Some of the back of his hair was pushed up and now had red crusty spikes, and it was easy to imagine the back of his hair had a similar messy pattern with an additional splash of red.

Chris was finding it hard to breathe. Not from the blow, but from laughing.

"Heh… hah… Wes… Wesker… heh…."

The blond snarled, grasping Chris by the throat and lifting him up into the air. "Time to die, Chris."

And then Jill bodily tackled Wesker off of Chris, though she couldn't push the tyrant far. He growled, glaring down at her; that was the _second time_ Jill had saved Chris and Wesker still wasn't certain why he had ever thought not killing her immediately would be a good idea.

"Come on Wesker, you know the rules. No killing each other."

Jill was surprisingly composed; Wesker's eyes narrowed. "There is a limit to what I will endure. And he," Albert pointed viciously at Chris. "Would be that limit."

Chris, ever the stoic hero… was still laughing.

Jill sighed. "Kill him _after_ the segments are finished. We need him to answer the questions."

"I don't see why; you could just as easily take his place."

Jill sighed like a mother trying to mediate two fighting brothers. "Go get changed and wash your hair, Wesker. And," She said quietly, waiting to make sure Redfield was more caught up in breathing than listening. "You can't _kill him_, but why don't you try to get him back?"

"How?" Wesker's voice was a low rumble, the tyrant straining to form coherent thought, nevermind sentences.

Jill shrugged softly, smiling. With one last look at Chris he sneered, then turned sharply and strode back to the bathroom to do as Jill had said. Chris, not interested in seeing a nude Wesker (the other had no sense of modesty and the bathroom door was gone), headed back to the kitchen. A thought made him pause, turning to look at his old partner.

"Jill! Sandwich?"

--------

It had been a few hours since then. Wesker and Chris were now sitting at the computer monitors, Albert slick and clean once more, his coat set on the back of his chair. It had taken a lot of shampoo and a number of combs, but his super-human strength and persistence had let him get rid of the disgusting red candy smeared in his hair. It hadn't been that much anyways; Chris cursed not having thought of bringing a whole one to stick onto Wesker. See him get _that_ off without leaving a bald patch.

Still, considering how utterly humiliated he had been, Wesker was showing remarkable composure once more. The blond sat at his monitor with a straight back and slightly raised chin, awaiting the first comment. Redfield was trying to imitate him, though Albert apparently hadn't noticed. Recalling the look on the other's face caused him to shake his head, chuckling softly once more.

"I don't know why you're laughing," Wesker informed him. "I won."

"Huh?" Redfield still sounded amused.

"You kissed me. Clearly you are romantically interested."

"Wesker, that 'kiss' was to distract you."

"And yet you've never employed that tactic before…"

Chris didn't lose any of his humor, taking it in stride. "You never would have thought you were winning before; it left you vulnerable. It was exploitation; you know, the thing you do?"

Wesker gave a sigh. "If you want to believe that, Chris…"

"Guys, please. Just get along long enough to do the segment, alright?" Jill was leaning against a table near the back of the room, arms crossed. The bickering really wasn't speeding up the answering of questions.

"And," She began, having come up with an idea. "I think you should read the other person's e-mail. That way no one will feel uncomfortable reading what was asked."

"Chris is the only one who has ever been uncomfortable," Wesker stated simply.

"Irregardless. Switch computers, men."

Both sighed but got up, Wesker grasping Chris when they passed and pulling him hard against himself again, staring down at him from behind his glasses. Chris stared up, raising an eyebrow. "Need something, Wesker?"

The other's lip curled slightly in disdain. "You smell bad." He informed the other, then released Chris and strode to the computer. The blonde wrinkled his nose at the pile of tootsie pop rolls set beside the monitor, glancing at Chris before resuming staring at the monitor. Redfield looked awkward trying not to touch the coat of the other (which had folded slightly over the inside of the chair because of its length), and grimaced faintly. Jill smiled, having accomplished her goal.

Chris glanced to Wesker, then began typing on the keyboard.

"Should we not discuss the results of the… hn, 'Experiment'?" Chris nodded. "It took me four-hundred thirteen licks on average. Wesker's average…"

"Was five-hundred and six licks." He looked like he might be sick again, though it passed.

"It must have been higher than that; you took twice as long as I did…"

"I licked slower than you, Redfield. In the time it took you to lick twice I was still starting."

Chris frowned, shrugging a moment later and accepting the simple explanation.

"Which means the average amount of licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop roll is four-hundred fifty-nine point five." Wesker said smoothly.

"Which we round up to four-hundred and sixty." Chris commented, to which Albert nodded.

"Now to resume the task at hand," Wesker began, Chris nodding.

"You have the first question Wesker." Fingers flew rapidly over keys.

It was difficult to hear what the other muttered, but it sounded akin to 'Oh goodie".

"Sythlia says, 'Albert, if Uroboros had really succeeded, wouldn't it have just turned the whole world into one big tentacle? Sure, some organic life might survive, but what would stop everyone else who joined into a bunch of tentacles from killing 'the chosen' outright? I don't think you thought this through very well…"

Wesker cracked his knuckles. "Assuming one isn't rejected by uroboros, the feats and powers at one's disposal are limitless. The rejected forms may be problematic, but the truly strong would force them into the submission they were destined for; else they would not be very strong, would they?"

"Also, those who are not rejected do not merge with one another. The only reason the rejected ones appear to merge is because they require a living host to control them, and without it are constantly attempting to replenish their depleting energy and health through devouring other living tissue. The less alive the tissue it devours, the less sustenance it gains from it; and the weaker it grows. A true uroboros would have had no difficulty dispatching Chris and Sheva."

"And yet we managed to defeat you…"

"After injecting me repeatedly, throwing me from a plane, and firing rockets at me inside the hangar bay. I was not in the greatest state of health at the time."

Chris shrugged.

"Sythlia would also like to know, 'What did the seven minutes thing refer to? Seven minutes till what?'"

"Until my hair gel dried."

Chris turned to him, shock and amusement written across his face. "Really?!"

"No you moron. I had to go and get an injection."

"Oh." Chris sounded slightly disappointed.

"The next one is for you Chris, and is also from Sythlia. 'Chris, do you punch boulders often? Is it to get revenge for the first one that chased you in the first game?'" The blonde turned to regard Chris, grimacing at the sight of his coat touching Redfield.

"I…" Chris looked baffled. "Uh… no? It was just a sort of… spur of the moment… I guess?"

"And you're certain you're not on steroids?"

A soft sigh.

"Sythlia also requests that we 'high-five'." Wesker droned. Chris frowned and braced his feet on the floor, then with a sharp motion launched the chair towards the tyrant. Wesker winced, tensing at the suspected impact, but Redfield showed remarkable precision in the quick timed event, grasping the counter sharply to stop himself. Warily, he rose his hand.

"No need to be so dramatic, Chris. I'm not going to _break it_."

Knowing Wesker, he just might have. Surprisingly, he gave a simple clap of the hand, none of his inhuman might behind it. Back on S.T.A.R.S. the pair had high-fived each other a number of times, and it was hardly a new sensation; except now there was the added desire to kill each other.

"SaYue-San asks, 'If you had to choose, I mean Life or Death, would you rather have hot kinky sex with Sheva or Jill?'" It was surprising the word 'kinky' was even in Wesker's vocabulary. Jill cleared her throat from behind them, causing the brunet to turn an awkward shade of pink. Wesker grinned.

"Well I mean, obviously I would never expect such a thing from Jill, and…"

"So you would have sex with Sheva instead?" Both men were surprised at Jill's comment, looking to her. Chris looked awkward. "Well, no, I mean… well, if I got to know her, and the relationship developed that way, then…"

"Just choose, Christopher." Drawled a bored Wesker.

"Well, if it was a matter of _life or death_, then…" His voice dropped a few decibels. "Jill." Wesker chuckled softly, Ms. Valentine fighting back her own blush.

"Wesker!" Redfield's sharp bark brought them back from their musings. "SaYue-San wants to know how you manage to keep your hair so still. 'How do you keep your hair so still? I mean it never moves even when you have your hands on it. It's crazy.'"

Albert smirked. "A lot of hair gel. Redfield used to gel his hair as well, but he's apparently given the habit up in the last few years… he's also given up shaving, and other basic hygienic habits." Redfield frowned at the insult, but didn't interject.

"I'm usually careful to not dishevel it when I touch it. During my first… 'encounter' with Chris and Sheva I was frequently righting it. It helped that most of the fight was spent with them running."

"NiaXie says…" Chris sighed softly. "_NiaXie_, not _me_, Wesker… 'Wesker you are so expletive sexy and I love you more than you love yourself… joking… I know that's not possible.'"

Wesker chuckled. "Well, I suppose I should be thanking you then, NiaXie. It's certainly nice to be appreciated." Albert's voice was a sultry purr. "It's certainly wise to prefer the winners, as well."

"Like Excella?" Redfield chirped; Wesker rolled his shoulders.

"Excella was an… unfortunate, albeit necessary, sacrifice."

"Right. Like S.T.A.R.S." Muttered Chris.

"Precisely." Replied Wesker brightly.

"Tiger Snaps has another question for you, Wesker. Tiger asks; 'Would you rather have sex with Jill in Chris's bed or Claire in Chris's Bed?'" Chris was glaring daggers at Albert, clearly ready to throttle the male if he said Claire. There was a pause where the tyrant obviously considered it, then he simply looked to Jill and smirked. "Well now that Ms. Valentine is a blonde…"

"Wesker…" Jill began in warning; again the blond shrugged.

"Can I not say both?"

Chris sneered, again causing Albert to chuckle. "Jill, of course. I'm not sure where the idea I was interested in Claire originated…"

"Didn't S. D. Perry start that whole thing?"

Wesker sighed. "I hate S. D. Perry."

Redfield grinned boyishly. "I know. Anyways, the next question is for you, and it's from Shadowl—"

There was the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. All three glanced that way, listening to the sound of a fridge opening and some cutlery being dug out of a drawer, then shrugged and went back to their segment.

"It's from Shadowlexis, and says; 'Albert, I've got some issues with you!" The blond raised an eyebrow. "'Wtf happened to your voice? It was decent in Code Veronica, and now in RE5 and Umbrella chronicles, it sounds like your trying to a cockney accent, and your failing miserably!'"

"My voice has simply gotten softer over the years, dear heart. I suspect I would have very little voice at all had I smoked when S.T.A.R.S. was active. It isn't that different; just a reflection of my age and travels. I suppose I could attempt to sound more closely to how I did in my younger years; though I'm not certain why I would."

"I always thought that Andrew Smylie did a pretty mean impression of you, Wesker."

Albert chuckled. "Andrew Smylie. Yes, he does do it well, doesn't he?"

Redfield continued. "Shadowlexis also says; 'And what in the name of Rick Astley happened to your clothes? You now look like a wazzak, a complete idiot.'" Wesker rose an eyebrow again. "I'm rather fond of my outfit, personally. What precisely is wrong with it? The gloves, the coat…?"

"I thought it was weird when you used to wear turtle-necks."

"Of course you would. You have no sense of fashion."

"There's another weird question. 'Would you prefer Chris to be in a maid's outfit or dressed as a catboy, with the ears and everything?'" Wesker turned his – or rather _Chris'_ chair fully, eying the other male up and down slowly. "Hmm… I would say maid's outfit, but I don't believe your legs would look anything but repulsive. So, cat boy, I suppose."

The tyrant cocked his head. "I suppose you already are somewhat like a pussy cat. Suicidal tendencies, and what not."

Chris rolled his eyes, going back to looking at the monitor. "The last comment to you from Shadowlexis is, 'You're still a bloody awesome villain...go get yourself some alcohol to celebrate...then get Chris drunk for giggles!' You know, I'm fairly certain I have a stronger constitution than you, Wesker. Especially if the tootsies pop rolls are any indication."

"Please. You not only get drunk quickly, but you're a lush when it happens. You were embarrassing to be around at bars." Redfield stuck his tongue out. "At least I can eat tootsies pop rolls without barfing."

"Hn, perhaps that would sting more if it was something I actually cared about. What a shame I am not as juvenile as you. Now then, Shadowlexis' comment to you is thus; 'My main problem with you is what in Grim Fandango's name happened to you? You seriously look like you have been on steriods...or Chris-roids as my good friend says. And I don't like your partner in Resident Evil five, she sucks major. Also, would you rather be tied up and let Wesker have his way with you or be in a maid's outfit for the day and do everything he says. I think somewhere in my head, something hath broke'd...I BLAME YOU BOYS!' Well, there's no need to blame me dear." Both red eyes moved to the brunet. "Well Chris?"

"Why don't they ever ask _you_ these questions?"

"Everyone is aware of your secret fetishes, clearly."

Redfield scowled. "Maid's outfit. That way whenever he saw me he'd be sick."

Albert laughed good-naturedly. "Now now, that isn't very nice."

"It isn't supposed to be."

Wesker sighed, but let it go. Jill was starting to realize just how crazy the pair were when locked up together. It was a little frightening.

"Angie thinks you rock, Chris."

"At least someone does…" The brunet murmured, sounding more pathetic than he meant. He shook it off. "Angie wants to know, 'Wesker, why did you have to kill Excella? What? Are you afraid of commitment or something? Yeah hehe don't hurt me.'" Redfield looked expectantly to his ex-captain, who leaned back in his chair thoughtfully.

"It was nothing against Excella, personally. When uroboros was released she would have been rejected as well; I simply saw more use in using her to impede Sheva and Chris than waiting until for the inevitable. It would have been a waste of a perfect opportunity."

"As for commitment… I simply am more loyal to myself than any other. Eventually those I ally with begin to deviate from my own goals, and I lose interest in continuing a partnership. I would like to think my commitment to killing Chris Redfield over the years hasn't wavered." Albert glanced cheekily to Chris, who pointedly ignored him.

Wesker continued. "Chris, Angie asks, 'Who do you like better, Sheva or Jill? Which one would you marry? And which one would you um want to 'do it' with? Cough cough. And oh yeah, BUY SOME LOOSER SHIRTS! It's not hot anymore, it's kinda annoying.'"

Chris sighed softly. "I like them both the same; they're both my partners, and a certain bond forms that's difficult to break…"

"I had a partner once."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. He was assassinated."

"By your hand, no doubt?"

"No. Not that he didn't deserve it."

Chris shook his head, going back to his explanation. "I would rather marry Jill I guess, since I know her better…" He risked a glance at the female, who looked totally caught up in staring at a small speck of dirt on the wall. "I… I guess if the relationship went that way, then I'd go… farther? And as for looser shirts…"

"He already does. Have you _seen_ what he's wearing?"

Chris rolled his eyes. They'd end up dislodged at this point. "I try to buy for substance, not style. Maybe I make the shirt work, not the other way around?" The brunet raised an eyebrow slyly, as he'd seen Albert do. The blond stifled a cruel chuckle.

"Angie also has a comment on _your_ fashion, Wesker. 'Where do you buy your clothes? Add some color to your life! What, is you favorite store "All Black R Us?" I think you would look good in green, and not that gay green, you know the hot kind.'"

"Chris, give me your vest."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Wesker, you have a ridiculous amount of clothing. Unlike you, I am not rich."

"I fail to see how that's of any point."

"You don't have to; you aren't wearing my clothing. End of story."

Wesker rolled his eyes. "Well, I believe I _would_ look good in green; a darker shade, perhaps. I prefer darker clothing, it leads to being more easily over-looked. I used to wear a lot of blue as well."

"You looked good in blue."

"Thank you." Jill was surprised by the sudden show of comradery, but didn't comment lest the moment explode the universe.

"TntFriday13 says, 'Aw, Chris, you're a women only zone?...Hm, Wesker is hardly a woman, in fact he seems to be all man to me—' I certainly am. '…So that just won't do. Okay Chris, my next question for you is... Would you rather be wearing a _really_ short dress on your date with Wesker, where later on you end up under him on a bed. Or would you rather wear a bikini on your date with Wesker, involving hot, steamy weather and water to cool you both off?' Hn, that second one sounds nice…"

"The bed. I end up under Wesker a lot."

Jill choked on a soft laugh; Chris quickly clarified. "And then I beat him off!"

Wesker grinned; Chris literally face-palmed.

"I meant when we fight. In a non-sexual way."

"Mhm."

"Your question from TntFriday13 is, 'What would you rather Chris be wearing in bed with you? Nothing or something kinky? If it's kinky would you please tell what exactly it is?'" Redfield looked close to hitting his head against the desk again.

"I suppose I would rather Chris be wearing all his clothing if he was in bed with me. He's hairy, and no doubt sweats like a beast."

Jill rose her eyebrows. "You didn't just answer that _seriously_, did you?"

"Why of course, dear heart. I am comfortable enough with my sexuality to not be offended by implications of homosexuality. Chris on the other hand…"

"I'm not gay!"

"Temper, temper. Anyhow, Jesture asks, 'Who did you have a better time working with? Jill or Sheva?'"

Chris looked thoughtful, calming down. "Well, Sheva was great to work with, but Jill… we have a history, you know? Though shooting you in the face with rocket launchers was great."

"Hn, I'm sure it was."

"Jesture asks _you,_ 'Would you find it weird to have somebody want to try and "save" you from your insane mind of world domination and God complex?'"

Wesker laughed broadly, throwing his head back. Both eyes flashed from behind his glasses. "I would find it… endearing, and amusing. Possibly irritating."

"Reiji Neko Mitsukai has something to say, Wesker; 'You're a bachelor, and you love it- I get that. But for the love of all things furry, PLEASE wash your hair and leave it loose AT LEAST once in a while. All that gel can't be good for it, and we all know how much of a vain bastard you are.

Also, due to the feral appearance of your eyes, your designated name is now Whisker. You brought it on yourself.'"

Chris looked to Wesker to see his appearance; he was stoically impassive.

"I'm not certain how fond I am of the name 'Whisker'. Though I've been called worse, I suppose. As for my hair…" A small smirk quirked his lips. "I do leave it loose, now and then. I'm just careful not to be around anyone when I do. The formula I use is all natural, so there's no worries of it harming the roots. I certainly appreciate the concern, though. Chris, your comment is; 'Seriously? Just kiss Jill already. We all know you want to.'"

The brunet blushed and sputtered; Jill also blushed. Wesker smirked. After an awkward moment, a chirp caused Chris to look up at the computer. He hit a button. "DarknessCat says, 'Weskaah… did anyone call you Whiskas? You could do an advertisement of it.'"

"What is or are Whiskas?"

"You know, the cat food?"

"Ah. Well, to my knowledge I've never been called Whiskas. Perhaps if I had facial hair someone might?"

"You and your nicknames. I'm almost jealous."

"Don't be."

Chris smirked, pausing at another chirp. "Azrael 216 asks, 'Hey Wesker if you had a brother who had taken care of you throughout the years in childhood and would have gone against you with your cough insane cough plan to take over the world would you kill him? Just thinking.'"

Wesker shrugged. "Probably. I may have simply restrained him or attempted to control him, depending on how useful he was. I am not the particularly sentimental type. Chris, Azrael says, 'One little question how the hell did you do the flip in the laser room in the Umbrella Russian base? You never did it in the past why then?"

"The same reason I punched a boulder to save Sheva. Unlike certain people, I'm not a show-off; I only do what's needed."

"That's why I have more fans."

"Right. Azrael adds, 'Wesker your midnight version in mercenaries and versus suck!'" Chris snickered, Wesker looked taken aback. "I beg to differ. But to each his own, I suppose."

Another chirp. Chris opened the message. "Ada Wong TN, not to be mistaken for _the_ Ada Wong, says; 'I love you! You are so sexy. Well... I want to know if you had some romance relationship with Excella before Chris arrives to Africa!! And, what kind of gel you use? The volcano's lava couldn't dishevel you!'"

Wesker smiled. "Thank you. Yes, I did have a relationship with Excella you might call romantic… I wasn't particularly interested in her, truly, but she was very… physical about her interests in me."

Chris raised an eyebrow in implication; Wesker nodded. Chris whistled lightly, Albert smirking faintly before recalling he was getting along with _Chris Redfield_ and falling back into an impassive expression. "As for gel; I use an all natural formula I found in France. It's very, very good."

Chris paused at the second message he received, eye twitching faintly. "I think you're supposed to read this one…"

The blond got up, sauntering over to his desk and leaning over Chris to stare at the monitor. He chuckled lowly. "I agree. Chris, AdaWongTN would like to know; 'What you'll do if you find Wesker and Claire having sex??' And adds, 'You are cute! But Wesker is better!'" Chris elbowed the other to knock him away; Wesker simply chuckled, moving back to where he'd been originally.

"I would kill Wesker." Chris said. "Painfully. With something sharp. No! Blunt. It would hurt more." He frowned at the comment of Wesker being better. "Well, everyone likes what they like." He hit a key. "Hina-86 says, 'I'm sad to say this, but if you were going to kick puppies then Chris will be my favourite character. And how could you say that about Jill?!! She showed me the baby's ultrasound pictures...'"

"Say what about Jill??" The female strode over to Wesker threateningly, eyes narrowed. The male smiled innocently up at her. "You've been here the entire time, dear heart. Surely I have said little in the ways of offending you?"

She turned to Chris. "What did he say, Chris?"

Redfield frowned; apparently banging his head had knocked a few things loose. "Someone mentioned you two… you know. But he said he didn't…"

Wesker took on an odd little infuriating smile, looking up to Jill. "And we didn't, did we, Ms. Valentine?"

"I'm not playing this game with you Wesker." She turned, striding back to where she had stood previously; Wesker watched her go, then grinned at Chris. Chris scowled darkly.

"This comment is directed towards you, Chris, also from Hina-86. 'Stop denying the love you have for Wesker!'" The blond righted his sun-glasses; Redfield groaned. "I don't love Wesker. I don't have any interest in him. I hate him, pure and simple."

"Did you hate me when we are on S.T.A.R.S. as well?"

"Obviously not, Wesker."

"Hn. I didn't think you did."

"Anyways, these next two questions are for you, from RedHell. 'Did Neo ever call you and demand his look and moves back?', and 'I know that "Sunglasses at Night" song reference is probably the most overused gag in the history of RE fanfics, but honestly - do you secretly rock out to it when no one's looking?'".

Wesker stretched both arms out in front of himself, then rotated them slowly to release the growing stiffness. "Martial arts and extreme speed were hardly invented by 'The Matrix'. I'll admit to some similarity, but I was wearing sunglasses and trench coats long before Keanu Reeves. As for the song…" He sighed softly. "I've listened to it before, of course, I can still remember when it first came out. I prefer something with a more intense beat though."

"Like Dance music?"

"No, Chris."

"Hmph."

"This one is for you… RedHell says, 'I noticed how you were able to explain the meaning of the term 'yaoi' to your beloved archenemy almost instantly. So would you please admit your love for reading those fics and that you browse this site's RE section at least twice a day?'"

Chris frowned. "I honestly don't. Claire likes to read them, hopefully just to laugh at, and she likes to bug me by quoting parts."

"Chris?"

Wesker was towering over him; Redfield looked up without batting an eyelash. "Hm?"

Albert was suddenly kissing him again, the contact light and quick; as soon as Redfield had realized it the other had pulled away, returning to his computer. Chris blinked, surprised.

"Uh… what just happened?"

"Wesker?"

Both Jill and Chris were apparently confused. Wesker smiled, sitting back down. "Never mind. I believe the final question is for me?"

Chris still looked surprised; dazed, he hit a button. "Uh, yeah… This is from Shadownip, who says…" The brunet shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He was way too sleep-deprived. "Shadownip asks; 'Can you see yourself ever being with Claire? Why or why not?'"

Wesker grinned, setting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers ominously. "Tell me, Chris, is your sister good-looking?"

Chris smirked, catching on. Jill, oblivious, stared on in confusion.\

"Do you think she'd be interested in a little _action_? Because I have a hard-on…"

Both men shouted in unison, "Like you wouldn't believe!!"

They shared a laugh, Jill still horribly confused. As Wesker's chuckle died down he commented softly, "Damned S.D. Perry. Anyways, to answer your question Shadownip; no, I can't ever see myself with Claire. For one thing, she's a Redfield. For another, Chris is her brother. There's also a rather large age difference, and she's not all that interested in me if our last encounter is any indication."

Chris was still chuckling, shaking his head over the horrid line. "Hey Wesker, toss me a tootsies pop?"

The blond grasped one of the ones off the pile, tossing it over. "Get it on the jacket and I'll skin you, Redfield."

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't throw up on my keyboard."

Jill smiled slightly; back to bickering. Now this she could handle.

---

A/N: I'm /so/ sorry this took so long! I had it halfway finished and my computer crashed, and I had to type it all up all over again. I hope it was alright, and no one was too OOC. As always, please comment/review/ask questions/etc.! ^_^


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